


Sun And Shadow

by ghiblitears



Series: Machine Dreams [1]
Category: Horizon: Zero Dawn (Video Game), Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horizon: Zero Dawn Fusion, Angst, Healing, M/M, Major Character Injury, Things Get Better, as many times as it takes, cameos from other characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 07:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14929766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghiblitears/pseuds/ghiblitears
Summary: The circumstances that draw Shiro and Keith together aren’t unusual; Hawk and Thrush united through the Lodge, ready to prove their worth in machine hunts. What makes it unusual — for Keith, at least — is that Shiro sticks around when no one else has before.It’s only fair that he do the same.(A VLD Horizon: Zero Dawn AU)





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> This AU kind of just... happened. I've been playing HZD so much that I think it's filtering into my subconscious, and with season 6 happening literally tomorrow I've been dying to post something in celebration, even if it's just one half of the story. I hope you like it!

Getting accepted into the Hunter’s Lodge is one thing, but getting a Hawk to vouch for him is another.

 

In the long run, it might not hurt for him to try and be a little more approachable, but Keith figures it’s already a lost cause. The stares from Hunters are almost tangible, pinpricking across his skin from the moment he’d stepped over the threshold. The Lodge is bustling with activity at high noon, Hawks and Thrushes milling around and exchanging stories and tips about new machine sites. He recognizes quite a few hunters, most of who are quick to meet his eyes and just as quick to look away. The Blazing Suns — earned in blood and sweat, all three of them — crease fine lines into his rough hands with how hard he’s holding them. The gesture staves off his desire to reach for his knife. That definitely won’t do him any favours in looking friendly, though the familiar weight in his hands never fails to calm him.

 

Whispers follow him from the moment he enters the lodge and all the way up to where he finds Sunhawk Iverson, exactly where the envoy had said he’d be. He’s by far the roughest-looking member — Keith knows who he is, of course, but the leader of the Hunter’s Lodge would be easy to pick out in a crowd anyway. Iverson’s Blazon armour hides nothing; puts his scars and gashes on full view like they’re trophies. In the lodge, they probably are. One of his eyes is permanently shut, covered with a shining glass prosthetic that catches the sun’s glare like fire. Rumour has it that he was blinded in a fight with a pack of Stalkers and simply tore the lens out of one once he’d brought them all down — eye for an eye. Keith, unfortunately, knows that’s not true.

 

There’s no doubt that he’s earned his place as Sunhawk, though. If there’s a way in, it’s through him.

 

Swallowing his doubt, Keith goes to stand before him and holds out his accolades. “I’m here to join as Thrush of the Hunter’s Lodge,” he says.

 

Iverson’s good eye stares him down. It’s hard not to wilt under the Sunhawk’s harsh gaze, but he holds his own. The rest of the hunters are still going about their own business, but he can tell that they’re watching, listening, betting on what the final word will be. Iverson’s gaze flickers back up from the Blazing Suns.

 

“Not likely,” he says.

 

He bristles. “My Suns are as good as anyone’s here!” he snaps, unable to keep his temper reined in.

 

“If you thought I wouldn’t recognize you, you’re dead wrong,” Iverson says sharply. “I know who you are — the half-breed that waits in the shadows outside the Lodge, the Scrapper who steals parts. I’d sooner let a Ravager join us than you.”

 

Anger runs white-hot through his veins. He grips the Blazing Suns tight enough to cut into his skin — accolades he’s earned fairly, on nothing but his own strength. And though the Sunhawk’s claims are unfounded — mostly — they’re law in the Lodge. He’s about to step forward and shove the Suns down Iverson’s stupid throat when a hand lands on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

 

“Sunhawk,” a voice says coolly.

 

Iverson sighs. “Shirogane,” he says. “I take it there are no new leads on Redmaw?”

 

“I’m sure you could tell that much,” the voice — Shirogane — replies. Keith dares to glance at the newcomer; he’s older than Keith, though not by much. He looks the part of a perfect Carja; tall, broad, with short black hair and a hard stare in his grey eyes. His armour is a deep red, almost black, and flecked gold on the borders. The accolade of a Hawk sits on the right side of his breastplate. On his back is a shining War bow, a Lodge make by the look of it, one earned from the completion of fifteen Blazing Suns. The gold sections along the bow’s limbs glint in the sunlight. Keith abandons all subtlety to take him in. _This_ is someone who has earned his title.

 

“How disappointing,” Iverson comments.

 

“Is there a problem here?” If he detects the insult, Shirogane chooses to ignore it.

 

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with.” Though the Sunhawk stays levelled, Keith can detect an undercurrent of animosity in his words. Clearly he’s used to this.

 

Shirogane eyes the Blazing Suns in Keith’s hands. “Looking for a Hawk?” he asks, directing the question to Keith rather than Iverson. “I’m sure we can find someone.”

 

“We don’t want him in the Lodge. He steals parts,” Sunhawk Iverson says as he glares down at Keith. “And he’s only a half-breed Carja, No one will sponsor him.”

 

“Oh?” He arches an eyebrow. “I didn’t think that was still an issue. Unless you’ve forgotten who got rid of that law?”

 

The Sunhawk says nothing, casting his glare back to Keith.

 

“But if that’s the case, I’ll sponsor him myself,” Shirogane says. “Keep him out of trouble. And I could use a Thrush — you know, I’ll need a successor to promote to Hawk once I find Redmaw.”

 

 His hand is still on Keith’s shoulder, but now it’s less like he’s holding him back and more a gesture of solidarity. He’s still completely composed, stare levelled at the Sunhawk as if daring him to challenge the decision. Iverson, evidently, knows when he’s been beat, and crosses his arms. One of his hands twitches, as if he’s imagining throttling them.

 

“The usual, then,” he snaps. “If he comes back alive, we’ll talk.”

 

Shirogane nods, and once Iverson leaves he claps Keith on the back. “Congratulations; you just got through the hardest part of the application. What’s your name?”

 

Keith glowers. “I could’ve handled him.”

 

“I don’t doubt it. But it would have taken forever. Iverson’d make you fight a Metal Devil before he let you in.” Shirogane leads him over to a seating area, scoping out a small table and taking a seat on one side. Against his better judgement, Keith follows suit. “Again: your name?”

 

“Keith.” He sits across from Shirogane. “What’s the ‘usual’?”

 

“It’s standard for a fledgling to bring back trophies from three Sawtooths, two Ravagers, and a Stalker before they’re promoted to Thrush,” he says. He gestures to Keith’s Blazing Suns. “May I?”

 

Keith hands them over.

 

Shirogane’s dark eyes study the accolades, rove up and down the metal like he’s searching something out. His hands are scarred but steady. In fact, most of him is covered in scars; at least what the Blazon armour doesn’t cover. Most are small, faded from time and the sun, but a few stand out, red and bright against his pale skin — and some of them are clean, straight lines, not jagged and harsh like machine-made cuts. Only the skin on his face is unmarred. Keith stares for a moment before he realizes what he’s doing, and hastily looks away.

 

“Valleymeet Hunting Grounds?” Shirogane asks, one eyebrow raised.

 

Keith nods.

 

“A bit tame, don’t you think?”

 

“I got the Blazing Suns on my first try,” he protests. He hesitates for a moment before the truth spills out; “Well, except for the Logpile trial.”

 

The corner of Shirogane’s mouth quirks up. “Yeah, I remember that one. When I was a fledgling, I did that trial three times. Grazers kept running out of bounds.” He hands them back. “I don’t think you’ll have any trouble with the trophies, but come find me if you need advice.”

 

Keith nods, pocketing the Suns. “Thanks.”

 

Shirogane sits back in his seat and lets his gaze wander the lodge. When he looks back to Keith, he has a mischievous glint in his eyes. He jerks his head in the Sunhawk’s direction. “I haven’t seen him this mad in ages. How’d you piss him off so badly?”

 

Keith sighs. “It’s a long story.”

 

Shirogane leans in, folding his arms on the table, and looks at him expectantly. “I’m listening.”

 

He shifts uncomfortably in the seat. It’s not something he likes to talk about. Kind of old shame, honestly. But Shirogane seems to loathe Iverson as much as he does, so maybe he’ll appreciate a blow to the Sunhawk’s ego. He clears his throat before speaking.

 

“You know his eye?” he asks, miming an eyepatch with his right hand.

 

“Yeah?” Shirogane raises an eyebrow. His gaze flickers across the room to the Sunhawk, who’s still shooting glares in their direction.

 

“I’m, uh, kind of the reason it’s like that,” he says. He fiddles with his bracers just to have something to keep his hands busy.

 

Shirogane’s eyes widen. “Really?”

 

Keith fidgets, unsure of how to proceed. If he doesn’t believe him, he could just get kicked to the curb before even making it to Thrush status. But he’s made it this far; it’s worth a shot.

 

“I used to get into shit I shouldn’t. Tail hunters until they made a kill and make off with the extra shards, snatch lenses and stuff out of their pockets, that sort of thing. Not anymore,” he says, quick to defend himself when he sees amusement glimmer in Shirogane’s eyes. “but back then I just did what I could to get by. And one time, Iverson caught me lifting a Ravager heart out of his bag.”

 

He whistles, low and quiet against the rest of the room’s cacophony. Keith takes that as a sign to continue.

 

“I didn’t mean to hit him that hard. But I guess he’d already been onto me — or maybe didn’t like that I was half-Carja —  and he was ready to kill. You can figure out the rest.”

 

Shirogane snaps his fingers. “I remember that day! Three years ago, right? I remember thinking it was weird that he left for a Ravager site and just happened to find a pack of Stalkers. Their territories don’t really overlap.” He sits back, eyeing Keith over. “That’d explain it. Especially since the only thing he came back with was the lens. He probably just bartered for it in the market.”

 

“You believe me?”

 

“I’m inclined to,” he replies.

 

That was a first. Barely anyone had. The Sundom’s guards certainly hadn’t.

 

 “I like you, Keith. You’ve got spark — we need more of that around here.” Shirogane says. He holds his hand out invitingly. “What do you say we keep at this? You hunt machines, I promote you, we keep him on his toes. Sound good?”

 

They aren’t sitting next to each other, but the din of the Lodge around them makes them feel closer than they are. The rest of the scene plays out around their bubble of privacy; the lively music from the minstrels near the door, the whispers and shouts and calls that announce Hawks returning from a hunt, the warmth that radiates out from the wall sconces and sears through the high windows. It’s an atmosphere Keith had always observed from outside, lingering around the edges of the Lodge and watching, wondering when they’d finally let him in.

 

It feels like community. Like family. Maybe someday it could be his.

 

Keith catches Shirogane’s hand in his own. “I’m in.”

 

***

 

Keith gets the trophies, and by the time he brings down a Thunderjaw and a Stormbird even Iverson gives him a hint of grudging respect. Through it all Shiro is a constant, ever-watchful and ever-present, shining like the sun each time Keith brings a new prize to him.

 

***

 

“What was your family like?” Shiro asks.

 

It’s an innocuous enough question, but it comes out of nowhere and puts Keith on alert. They’re sitting on a mesa in the plains outside Meridian, watching the sun set and the red earth turn dark.  They’d gotten wind of a Rockbreaker in a mining colony outside the city and managed to beat the mass of hunters leaving the lodge to try and take a stab at it. Keith, for all his skill, had caught an unlucky blow towards the end of the fight. His arm didn’t look as bad now that the blood had been cleaned off and it was bandaged, but it was sure to scar, and it _really_ hurt. He may have gotten lucky — getting hit by the aftershocks wasn’t as bad as disappearing down the machine’s grinding maw — but he’ll never live it down.

 

Shiro must sense his bad mood, because he’d lead the way to Cut-Cliffs and abruptly sought out the best spot to hang out atop one of the dunes.

 

Keith keeps his stare levelled with the horizon, ignoring the way the sun’s rays burn his eyes. “Hell of a time to ask, Shirogane.”

 

“ _Shiro_ ,” he insists, though it’s with a joking tone. “Are you ever gonna drop that? ‘Shirogane’ is way too ‘old Carja nobility’ for me. It makes me sound like I don’t know how to have fun.”

 

“Your ideas of ‘fun’ don’t always align with mine, _Shirogane_ ,” Keith replies, dry as the dirt beneath his fingers, and Shiro smacks him playfully on his good arm. Privately, he does like ‘Shiro’ better. All the other Hawks call him ‘Shirogane’, same as most of Meridian’s merchants. He likes that Shiro trusts him with a nickname, and likes it better that he can use it to be an ass right back in response.

 

“My idea of fun got us out here, didn’t it?”

 

“It got _me_ mauled by a Rockbreaker.”

 

“I’m only partly responsible for that. If you’d fixed your dodge technique like I taught you, it wouldn’t have happened.”

 

Keith rolls his eyes.

 

They’re quiet for a moment, basking in the sun’s dying rays before either of them speaks again.

 

“You don’t actually have to answer that,” Shiro says, evidently still invested in their other conversation. “I just realized I never asked you, and you’ve only ever mentioned your mother once or twice. But if that’s too personal...“

 

He trails off. He wouldn’t even need to say the rest — Keith knows him well enough to know how that sentence would end. A herd of Lancehorns wanders through the valley beneath them, dodging fallen rocks and puddles of water left over from the last rainstorm. Far off on the horizon line a Tallneck walks its designated path around a plateau, tall enough to be seen unobstructed even in the cliffs and valleys. It’d be a perfect end to the day, were it not for the throbbing pain in his arm and the anxiety rising up his throat.

 

Keith sighs. The truth will come out eventually. Shiro might as well learn from him and not from rumour floating around the village.

 

 “My father was some kind of wanderer, an outlander from way out in the Savage Lands. My mother was Carja. A fighter. Machine hunter.”

 

Shiro grins. “A female machine hunter with a half-Carja kid? I bet the old Sundom loved that.”

 

Despite himself, a half-smile plays across Keith’s features. “Yeah, she wasn’t well-liked around Meridian. But we needed some way to keep the shards coming in after my father left her, and she was good at it. She taught me everything I knew up until I joined the Lodge.”

 

“Can I ask what happened to her?”

 

He stays silent, and it seems that Shiro takes that as an answer, because he quickly backtracks. “Sorry, that was — “

 

“It’s fine,” Keith says shortly. “Everyone knows someone who died in the Sun-Ring.”

 

He refuses to look at Shiro, because he knows the look of pity that will await him. He can already feel the weight of Shiro’s dark eyes on him. He must know it’s not the whole story, but Keith doesn’t want to talk about how Krolia had shoved his gear into his hands and told him to run. He’d had to dodge guards as well as machines in his stint in the forest, running until the sun and the city burned on the horizon, stopping only to gather food and water. Seventeen sunrises had gone by before things had calmed down, and when he emerged in the daylight of the eighteenth sun Zarkon was dead.

 

The house had been left mostly untouched. Krolia’s absence was what made it feel wrong.

 

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says.

 

Keith shrugs again, unsure of what else to say.

 

The silence rushes in like storm clouds, thick and cloying. When Shiro next speaks, his voice is softer, quieter.

 

“I lost friends there too. We should’ve helped more — if the Lodge wasn’t so strict about numbers, we might’ve had more members to help Sun-King Lotor. But I guess you’ve heard about what happened in the Ring, so...”

 

It dawns on Keith in that moment why some of Shiro’s scars stick out. The neat, clean lines made by a Shadow Carja blade on skin don’t resemble a machine cut at all.

 

He looks up at his friend. Shiro’s gaze is cast to the horizon, his dark eyes narrowed as he faces the sun. The light catches all the planes and angles of his face, draws a handsome profile in sun and shadow. He’d always played the part of a tough Hunter; now it’s easy to see where his iron will came from.

 

Neither of them says another word. They wait out the evening in thoughtful silence until the sun dies on the red mesa.

 

***

 

Keith finds Allura just as she’s leaving the Lodge, bow slung over her shoulder and a fierce expression twisting her fine features. The Nora Seeker always puts on a tough look — and with what she’s been through, it makes sense. When he stops her, though, something in his face must catch her attention, because she pauses once she’s out the door.

 

“Keith?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “What are you—“

 

“Shiro’s gone,” Keith blurts out. “He left for a routine hunt three days ago and he hasn’t come back.”

 

It sounds dumb when he says it aloud. Hunters disappeared for days on end chasing herds all the time. Not even he was exempt from that. And yet he still can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. It’s unlike Shiro to stay away so long, especially now that he’s the Sunhawk. His duties lie more with the Lodge than anything.

 

But Allura still stops dead. He can practically see the gears whirring in her head, stopping short as she reaches the same conclusion he does.

 

“You think something went wrong on the hunt?”

 

“No,” he insists. “There’s no way it would keep him away this long. Something else must have happened.”

 

Her eyes narrow.

 

They’d grown close over the past few months, ever since Allura had sauntered through the door to the Hunter’s Lodge and strongarmed Iverson into making her a fledgling. She hadn’t needed any help — her steadfastness and her six Blazing Suns spoke well enough for her skill — but he and Shiro had stood by her anyway until the Sunhawk relented, slinking away and muttering something about ‘maintaining the Lodge’s purity’. Becoming Kolivan’s Thrush had been the perfect ending to that scenario. Since then, they’d helped her out on her Seeker quests, joining her at machine sites and spots around town where the information was good. And there was no one in the Lodge who hadn’t heard of their joint victory over Redmaw, which had put Shiro in the position of Sunhawk and promoted Keith to full Hawk.

 

Most importantly, Allura was unparalleled in her tracking skills. If anyone could find him, it would be her.

 

“Where did he go?” she asked.

 

“Grazer site near Brightmarket,” he said automatically. “He said he was going to get Blaze.”

 

She looks to Meridian’s border with a distant gaze. Her eyes are unlike any other he’s ever seen, on Nora or Carja or any other outlander — blue with flecks of violet around the iris. They’re usually bright, but her concern has dulled them, leaving them the colour of gathering storm clouds. Allura’s rumoured to possess a power to see the unseen, and in the moment he could believe it.

 

“Meet me there, then.” She shoulders her pack. The beads on her Nora garb click together. “I have to meet someone in the city, but I’ll take a look around once I’m done. If it weren’t urgent, I’d follow you now.”

 

Keith nods. “It’s okay. Thank you, Allura.”

 

She nods her acknowledgement. “I hope it’s nothing. But the way things are right now...” she trails off. Her staff finds its way into her hands and she sticks it into the dirt, coating the end in red. “I’d rather be over-cautious than negligent.”

 

A statement he agrees to without hesitation.  


***  
  
Brightmarket is one of Keith’s favourite places. It borders the river that cuts through the land and seems to rise out of the plateau, giving the village a spectacular view. The people are nicer than those in Meridian — they’re more accustomed to outlanders and wanderers, meaning he can walk through without anyone batting an eye. Machine hunting sites are close, so he never has to block out a day of travel to get to the best ones.  If he didn’t already have a house in the capital city, he’d settle here in an instant.

 

Nothing seems off about the village when he passes through, and when he reaches the border he sees Allura already at work, crouched down to observe something on the ground. She sticks out in the orange landscape, with her long white hair and her blue Nora garb that’s built to withstand the elements.

 

 A Strider grazes near the site, and Keith is about to nock an arrow when he sees the calm glow in its eyes, the matrix of blue wires that overtake the machine’s head. In addition to her inhuman tracking skills, Allura had a component that allowed her to override machines. The first time she’d shown up on Keith’s doorstep riding a Charger, he’d almost shot her. No wonder she’d gotten here so much faster than him.

 

He peers down at whatever has her attention. “Anything?”

 

Allura keeps her stare levelled with the ground. “Nothing good.”

 

She stands, brushing dirt off her knees. “He was here. I found some dead machines over that way,” she says, pointing to a spot near the road.  He can make out the destroyed exoskeletons of a Watcher and three Grazers, all picked over for parts. “You were right. It wasn’t a hunting accident.”

 

Keith studies the ground. It takes him a moment, but he notices what she’d been staring at; a discolouration in the earth, a dark, slick spot amongst the vibrant red dust.

 

He swallows thickly. “Anything else?”

 

She steps forward carefully, eyes scanning the ground. He’d only seen her tracking skills in action a few times, but they unsettle him. It’s like she can see ghosts, afterimages of things left behind. It takes her a moment to find what she’s looking for, but she does. She leans down and brushes her fingers against the earth. A groove cuts the dust beneath her hands.

 

“Cart tracks. And more blood.” Her voice quiets on the last words. Allura casts her gaze down the road. “Whoever took him went down that way.”

 

“How many?”

 

She shakes her head, white locks of hair falling loose over her shoulders. “No idea.”

 

Keith doesn’t care. He’d take on an army if it meant getting his friend back. He stands. “We’re going after him,” he says, a statement rather than a question.

 

She nods. “I can see the path they took. Follow my lead.”

 

Allura bounds up to her Strider and mounts it, then holds out a hand to help Keith on. He hesitates for a moment — the only other times he’s been in such close proximity to one, he’d been dodging their hooves — but he accepts the gesture, and she pulls him up astride.

 

They don’t ride for long, a half sun’s movement down the path, but each step the Strider takes makes apprehension spike in Keith’s chest. Allura says nothing for the entire journey, scanning the path carefully and making adjustments when needed. Were the circumstances better, he might enjoy the ride. He’d always been quietly jealous of her skills, and riding a Strider felt a bit like riding the wind. If there are faster machines out there to command, he wants to find them.

 

They stop short once they reach the end of the path. A fortress blends seamlessly into the landscape, built of bricks and stone carved out of the shoreline down the ravine. Keith takes in the imposing watchtowers, the tall stone walls, and the single entrance that’s flanked by two guards.

 

Next to him, Allura stares wide-eyed at the structure. “No,” she whispers, a note of horror cutting into her words. “This is bad.”

 

 “Is it Shadow Carja?”

 

“It’s worse,” she says. “They’re Eclipse. If they’ve got Shiro, we don’t have much time.”

 

“Eclipse?” he echoes, taking another look at their enemy. Their armour is dark as ink and glimmers purple in the sun, making them stand out against the orange landscape. They _look_ like Shadow Carja, but he’s not familiar enough with either faction to know the difference.

 

“Cultists,” she explains, a bitter edge to her voice. “They attacked me at the Proving. They’re trying to resurrect machines from the Metal World.” She frowns. “But I don’t know what they could want with Shiro.”

 

The Eclipse are spread through the base, covering the surrounding area from watchtowers and carefully patrolling the borders with weapons drawn. To top it off, they have several Watchers and at their beck and call. They jerk and sputter as they rove the perimeter. Coils of a red and black tar-like substance leach off their bodies and trail where they’ve stepped. That’s not good — corruption makes machines stronger and can make humans go mad on contact. He’s seen it in action; it isn’t a pretty sight. The situation looks worse and worse the longer he stares at it.

 

“Can you see him?” he whispers.

 

Allura concentrates for a moment before shaking her head. “Not yet.”

 

Panic spikes through him. What did she mean, ‘not yet’? Was he hidden? Was he —

 

“Are you sure he’s here?” he asks.

 

“I’m sure,” she says firmly. “My Focus is limited, but he’s here. Just beyond what I can see.”

 

 She scans the situation one more time before turning to him, fierce determination written across her face. “I have a plan.”

 

Keith doesn’t. He’s better at coming up with solutions on the fly, but he can’t rush into this scenario this time. Patience yields focus, after all.

 

“Tell me what to do.”

 

She nods at the two watchtowers closest to them, each occupied by a shooter. “Take them and the Watchers out. If you see an opening, try and sneak in. There are cultists here, here, and here,” she explains, pointing in the general directions of the Eclipse. “Two of them to a tower. If they see you, fall back to the trees, and _don’t_ try to take them head on until I’m back. There’s too many. If you rush in, it’ll be suicide.”

 

“Where are you going?”

 

She grips her spear. “Not far.”

 

It could go wrong easily, but it’s looking like their only option. Keith draws his Sharpshot bow and nocks an arrow.

 

“Good luck,” she says.

 

“May the Sun light your way,” he says.

 

Allura disappears into the forest, silent as a shadow.

 

Keith creeps closer in the tall grass and watches the towers. Somewhere in there is Shiro, hurt and locked away at the mercy of the Eclipse. The bowstring hums against his fingers as he draws back. He shuts an eye against the sun’s glare.

 

His shots will count. By the Sun, they’ll count.

 

He lets the arrow fly.


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Allura find Shiro. Keith reflects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It only felt right to post this just before s7 drops, just like I did with part 1.
> 
> Flashbacks in this chapter are indicated with italics. I had a lot of fun with this section -- part 3 is on the horizon, I just ended up splitting it into two chapters because it got so long.
> 
> Enjoy!

_At one time, Keith had been a scrawny kid hiding out in Meridian’s border with nothing to his name but a thirst for adventure and the open woods behind his family’s house; in hindsight, there was no way those two things together weren’t trouble. Inevitability rather than possibility. And what inevitability it was, because the very first time he’d gone beyond the borders of their land he knew he’d gone too far. He’d ended up caught in a Watcher site, stuck in a patch of tall grass with his heart pounding as the machines circled and scanned. In an act of desperation, he’d tried to take one out with his mother’s knife, the only thing he’d had the foresight to grab. Keith had seen her do it before, stick a glowing eye with the blade when one of them ventured a hair too close to the house. All it did was glance off the machine’s armour, and he’d caught the brunt of the Watcher’s disabling attack directly before it went in for the kill._

_Then sparks showered down like falling stars, burnt his skin like the sun, spat out of the arrow that sprouted in its eye before fizzling out completely. The machines fell._

_It was his mother’s bow that ended the Watchers that day, his mother’s secure embrace that had brought him back to the house, his mother’s gentle hand rubbing slow circles on his back that had calmed him._

_Krolia had dried his tears and cleaned the gash on his shoulder. Her fierce, protective demeanour had gradually given way to a softer, kinder reassurance_ _— the kind of mothering Keith had become familiar with in harsh Carja lands, where men distrusted wild Krolia and her half-breed son. She’d disappeared into the depths of the house and returned with a hunter’s bow; smaller than hers and decked out in Carja designs._

_“You have a machine hunter’s soul, Keith. You’re young, but I think it’s time to teach you to harness it.” She’d handed him the bow, smiling at the way his face had lit up upon seeing it._

_He’d nodded eagerly. Krolia had a hunter’s soul too, one that guided her around the machine sites and observed everything about their occupants. It had led her to Meridian, out of the Outlands, to where she might embrace it. He could see the light in her kind eyes as she looked down at him, the same passion that had driven Keith to the Watcher site before he even knew what he was doing._

_Then she’d taken both his small hands in hers, placed her hunting knife in his palms, and closed them around the hilt. The blade glimmered in the sun’s golden glow. The machine lens_ _— a rare violet hue_ _— threw shards of light across the room, permeating the shadows, illuminating the dark. He‘d looked up at her, surprised._

_“I won’t always be around to protect you,” she’d said. “So if you’re going to be a hunter, sunspot, then you’re going to need this.”_

 

***

 

Keith didn’t get to be a Hawk of the Hunter’s Lodge to have Watchers be his downfall. Not that time in the woods, and not now. The first one passes close enough to his hiding spot that he can jab his knife into the glowing eye socket before he’s noticed. The second one falls to a deadeye shot before it can raise the alarm. Keith pauses, quiet enough to blend his breathing with the wind, but he still hasn’t been noticed. He draws again, eyes sharp as an arrowhead staring down his targets.

 

The first cultist falls silently after one well-placed shot. The second falls soon after.

 

Then he’s through the front door, slipping through the shadows, and in the heart of the base.

 

He still has no idea where Allura has gone, and the rest of the makeshift shelter sprawls out around him. He wishes that he had even a fraction of her sight, an ounce of her Focus. All he wants is a lead, something to point him in the right direction to find Shiro. The camp looks as though it’s been laid out hastily, making the layout even more confusing. The Eclipse must have just arrived here. Whether they stick around or not might be up to him and Allura.

 

He creeps through, dodging from cover to cover to avoid being spotted. Nothing sticks out yet, though there has to be some evidence lying around about where they might have taken him. But after a moment something else gets his attention — a glint that catches his eye up one of the towers, a greenish glow that stands out in the dying sun. It’s guarded by a cultist, but she seems more focused on the camp’s border than the canisters that lay at her feet.

 

Blaze.

 

If he can ignite it, the Blaze could turn things in their favour. But it could give him away if he’s not careful — it’s not like the cultists are going to ignore a flaming arrow coming out of seemingly nowhere.  


To his other side, the Eclipse have dug up some kind of pit. That explains the Blaze, at least — what he’ll use as a makeshift weapon, they use to excavate. Scaffolding drops down the dirt and rock deep into the earth, much further than he can see from his limited angle. Allura had said they were trying to resurrect ancient machines; if that’s what the pit is for, it makes the space even more foreboding. He’s seen remains of Metal Devils before, skeletons of steel littered throughout the Sundom, colossal and towering. They were true monsters frozen in place by his peoples’ predecessors. Keith suppresses a shudder at the idea of red light filling the eyes of a Metal Devil; of huge iron limbs bursting from the ground; of screeching metal as the mechanics whirr to life beneath the hulking steel hull.

 

An arrow whizzing past his ear pulls him sharply out of thought. It catches the edge of his face and carves a thin, burning line from his cheek to his jaw. A hiss of pain escapes him and he claps a hand to the cut, pressing painfully into the torn flesh.

 

In an instant he’s on his feet. He dodges the next arrow automatically, rolling to his feet beneath a cloth awning that covers what looks like a supply cache. There are shouts above him and the sound of footsteps clattering over wooden steps.

 

“The intruder’s over there!” someone yells, and then there’s a sudden, high-pitched alarm — reinforcements. Keith curses and nocks another arrow. The drive to fight courses beneath his skin, draws back his bowstring with all the strength and speed he has. A cultist spots him and takes an arrow between the eyes for his trouble. Keith redraws the bow with a fire arrow this time, ready to let it fly at a moment’s notice.

 

But he can already tell that he’s outmatched. Eclipse members swarm the lookouts and gather around the campgrounds with weapons drawn. A mechanical screech brings several machines into the camp — two Longlegs and several Scrappers, all spitting corruption. For a moment no one attacks — the Eclipse and the machines simply move forward to stare him down.

 

A heavily armoured cultist — the leader? — watches him. Like Iverson, he only has one eye, and the false lens in its place catches the sun’s taunting glare and throws it in his direction. Unlike Iverson, he has a stump where his arm was, leaving the limb cut off at the shoulder. It’s an old wound, faded with age, and as the man watches him Keith notices his spear, gripped in his remaining hand; a terrifyingly sharp Carja blade on the end of the long metal handle.

 

“Your hunter’s spirit heralds you well,” he says. “Unfortunately, it seems to have led you astray this time.”

 

Keith aims the arrow at the Blaze beneath the cultist’s platform in response. “Let my friend go, or you burn.”

 

“You’ll be dead before that arrow flies,” he replies. “But if it’s the Carja you want, you can have him — after you answer a few questions.”

 

His aim doesn’t falter. “Let him go. _Now_.”

 

“Do you know of the Nora, outlander?” The cultist asks, pacing slightly as he speaks. “They care for none but their own — brand the rest with ‘savage’  or ‘outcast’ when they don’t conform to their backward ways. I’ve heard that one’s taken up residence in Meridian recently. A Seeker.”

 

Keith says nothing, just keeps his bow steady and his anger reined. Blood spills from the cut on his face to fleck the dusty ground.

 

The cultist, seeing this, adds fuel to the fire. He wipes the spear’s blade on a cloth draped at his side, streaking the dusty beige with the reminder of blood. “Know anything of her? Your Carja friend didn’t seem to — or maybe he just didn’t want to cooperate. Not that it mattered.”

 

Red fills his vision.

 

“I know that she’ll kill you at the first chance she gets,” Keith snarls. “And that I’ll be the next one drawing an arrow.”

 

The cultist narrows his eyes before stepping back. He nods to the rest of the Eclipse. “Take him out.”

 

The only warning anyone gets is a metallic screech before hell breaks loose. Keith braces for an onslaught of arrows, but it’s another attack that catches him off-guard. The gate explodes inward as a Sawtooth crashes through, splintering one tower’s support beams and sending a few Eclipse flying towards a bloody doom. A second Sawtooth appears on the heels of the first, and finally a Ravager — all three bearing down on the cultists with hazy blue in their glowing eyes instead of red. Their mechanical growls fill the air as they begin their attack.

 

Allura flies in on the back of her Strider and makes a beeline for him. “Get on!” she yells, reaching for his hand.

 

She doesn’t have to tell him twice. Keith pulls himself astride the machine just as the Ravager goes to take on the Longleg, and he catches the end of the machine’s screeching sonic blast. He grits his teeth against the ringing in his ears but holds on as Allura’s Strider darts through the battlefield. Bolts from the Ravager’s cannon blast the ground at their feet.

 

“—told you not to attack them yet,” she says, barely audible above the noise.

 

“They shot at me!” he insists. Keith aims his bow and picks off another cultist, setting him aflame thanks to his unused fire arrow. Then he nocks a second arrow, ignites it, and lets it fly towards the green Blaze. The explosion rocks through them and sends the tower collapsing to the ground.

 

She ignores his defense, driving the Strider crashing through another gate. It splinters on impact, dropping shards of wood and Blaze to explode behind them.

 

“Do you know where Shiro is yet?” Keith asks, shooting down another cultist. Behind him he can hear the Sawtooths bellowing as they rip through the defenses and toss people aside like they’re weightless. Even to an experienced hunter, Sawtooths are terrifying. He’s glad that for once they’re on his side.

 

“Yes,” she replies. “I can see him in the tower ahead.”

 

He doesn’t question the change. All he cares is that they get him back.

 

Allura leaps off the Strider and uses her spear to smash through the tower’s heavy door. It splinters inwards and she kicks the destroyed wood out of the way, entering the room with Keith on her heels. It’s dark inside; there are no windows in the stone walls and no torches on the walls. The sunlight that slices the room’s shadow reveals an ugly sight. A dark, slick substance stains the floor at Keith’s feet, heralded by the sound of shallow breathing and a pained cry from the other end of the room.

 

“No,” Allura says hollowly. She freezes in the doorway, her shoes slick with blood and the light catching painfully bright in her white hair. “All-Mother, it can’t be.”

 

But the sun that breaks through the dark illuminates a familiar face, awash in blood, and the sight of it is enough to shock Keith back into action.

 

“Shiro!”

 

It’s him, it’s really Shiro; underneath injury Keith can recognize that much. He’s in a bad way, leaning his left side against the cell’s dirty wall. A cut bisects his nose, trailing dried red down his face like tears. He rouses slightly at Keith’s voice but falters almost immediately, his eyes squeezing shut in a pained grimace.

 

But Keith isn’t prepared for the worst, and the worst is his arm — or lack thereof.

 

After seeing the cultist leader, it feels like a cruel joke. Shiro’s right arm has been severed above the elbow, leaving jagged, ribboned edges and a steady flow of blood. The tang of it, iron and flesh, hangs thickly in the room; the sight of it sends bile rushing up Keith’s throat to choke him. It’s so inherently wrong that he has trouble processing it at first, and his stomach drops in horror when he realizes just how damaged it’s left Shiro.

 

He’s in far worse shape than Keith could have imagined. For a moment, he’s not sure what they’re going to do.

 

Allura finally speaks, whispers quickly and breathlessly as she snaps back to life. “Keith, his arm — we can’t —“

 

“We have to try!” He’s already digging for spare cloth, for something they can use to wrap it and stop the bleeding. The amount of red on the floor is alarming, but if Shiro’s still this aware it must not have happened too long ago. There’s still time. They will save him. They _have_ to save him.

 

She pauses, then nods. Her eyes are steely slate in the dark. “I’ll guard the exit. Help him.”

 

He frees a piece of cloth from his bag and steps in closer. Keith closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and recalls everything he knows about losing limbs; it’s not much, but it might be enough. Better than doing nothing, at least.

 

“Shiro,” he says, quieter. “Can you hear me?”

 

In his mind, it takes too long — but Shiro does reopen his eyes after a moment, pupils cut to pinpricks by the bright light. His skin is ashen and slick with sweat. He stares up at Keith with a mural of emotion painted on his raw face. Fear. Pain. Anger. All accounted for, and all warranted.

 

“Keith?”

 

“I’m right here.” He pinches off the blood flow, tying the cloth in a strip around the ragged flesh. Shiro breathes shallowly, the ragged intake of air occasionally punctured by a gasp of pain or a muted cry of pain. “Focus on me, okay? We’re going to get you out of here. You’re going to be fine.”

 

“The — the Shadow Carja —“

 

“—they’re getting what they deserve,” he replies, low and with venom.

 

At the door, Allura curses and pulls back. She whistles sharply for her mount before her stare lands back on Keith and Shiro. Fear clouds her iridescent eyes.

 

“We have to go,” she insists.

 

Her change in demeanour is answered not by her words but by the groan and screech of metal outside the door. It’s a sound that chills Keith to his beating core, a noise that he’s heard only once, but that haunts his nightmares and startles him into wakefulness. The scraping, clattering sound of four huge metal limbs clawing the dirt in their direction.

 

The Strider answers Allura’s call and darts forward just as a colossal crash shakes the ground at their feet. Shiro, his good arm thrown over Keith’s shoulders, grunts in pain. Allura helps them onto the machine, and her eyes widen when she finally spots what shakes the horizon line.

 

“Go!” She yells, drawing two fire arrows and pulling back on the bowstring. “I’ll find you in Meridian!”

 

As Keith maneuvers the Strider away he’s treated to the sight of the Nora Seeker’s arrows hitting the huge machine deadeye, the blazing arrowheads alighting the black metal and catching in the spinning guns atop its head. A whipping, barbed tail sweeps the air, a single red eye glows with the same intensity as the dying sun.

 

Keith spares a backwards glance as the Strider tears off towards Meridian. Desperation sits heavy on his sternum as Allura fights off the Corruptor; it’s too much, it must be. The only time he’d seen a Corruptor was on the edge of the Savage Lands near Daytower, and the sight alone had cut him so viscerally that he’d fled in the other direction rather than take it on. But Allura lands blow after blow, arrow after arrow, and the machine whirrs and screams in retaliation when her attacks knock the light out of its singular eye.

 

Shiro breathes shallowly as they ride. His back to Keith’s chest, his pulse weak and threaded against Keith’s arm, pulled tight around him to keep him on the mount. A groan sounds deep in his throat.

 

“Hang on, Shiro,” he says through gritted teeth.  He pushes the Strider to go faster until they tear through the red landscape and Meridian shines on the horizon, a beacon of hope against the fading light.

  
***  
  
Keith is applying a second layer of Medicinal Ember to Shiro’s wound when the door creaks open. Darkness fell over the house hours ago, leaving the room low-lit and golden from the few candles he’s lit. He looks up as Allura steps through the door — her form trembles with exhaustion and fire lights her wild eyes, but she’s alive. For having taken down an Eclipse base and killing a Corruptor, that’s more than he could ever ask for.

 

He rises from Shiro’s side and embraces her. She smells of metal and sweat, nothing like the forest locales she usually inhabited. She barely has the strength to stand, let alone return the hug, but she does anyway; one hand rising up to Keith’s back while the other grips her bow.

 

“ _Thank you_ ,” Keith breathes. He pours every measure of gratitude he has into his words. “Thank you, Allura.”

 

She nods into his shoulder before the embrace breaks. Allura eyes Shiro’s sleeping form with worry. “How is he?”

 

 Even bandaged, Keith can barely look at Shiro’s mangled arm without feeling sick. It’s not that he’s not used to injuries — far from it. Injuries are as common as shards in Meridian, and as varied as them as well. They come with the territory, and especially along with the job of machine hunting. Getting out of a full-on fight unscathed was rare, and meant that Keith had grown accustomed to scrapes, bruising, burns, cuts, broken limbs, head injuries — you name it, he’d had it.

 

The machines that roam the land are programmed to kill; that a human willingly did this to Shiro feels unforgivable.

 

“It’s bad,” he says, his hands curling into fists. “I think he’ll be okay, but...”

 

Allura nods again, brings one hand up to rest on his shoulder. “Rest a while. I’ll keep watch.”

 

Keith half-laughs, low and with a bitter edge. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

 

“Try anyway,” she says, her voice a gentle but unrelenting river.

 

He ends up sharpening his knife against a whetstone instead — a poor distraction from going out into the woods and killing the first thing he comes across. Anger bubbles in the pit of his stomach, makes him grip the knife and stone until his knuckles turn white. He’s never been so strung; in a rage like this he could probably take on a Thunderjaw singlehandedly.

 

But he won’t. He’s exhausted from their brawl with the Eclipse, exhausted after bringing Shiro to safety, exhausted from looking out his windows and wondering if more Shadow Carja will come out of the darkness to finish what they started. He’s covered in cuts and bruises from the fight, including a nasty gouge in his side from an arrow that he hadn’t noticed until the fight was over, and had hurt like fire when he’d applied the same poultice to it. Allura looks no better; her long white hair is in disarray and she’s nursing a few minor injuries from the fight. She keeps turning her spear over in her hands, fiddling with the components. Hooks and unhooks the Override component a few times.

 

Keith puts the whetstone down and sheaths the knife. He watches Shiro rest, watches the ragged rise and fall of his chest. Digs his nails so forcefully into his palms that it leaves half-moons in his skin.

 

“This is my fault,” Allura says quietly.

 

Keith looks up in surprise. “What?”

 

She looks to him, the firelight reflecting in her somber eyes. Dark circles underneath them make her face look gaunt. “The Eclipse wanted a lead. They must have been watching, must have somehow gathered that you two were connected to me. If they’d just gone for me directly—“

 

“Then you’d be in that cell instead,” Keith interrupts. “And no one would have found you.”

 

She’s silent.

 

“Shiro won’t blame you for what happened. Neither do it.”

 

She nods, keeping her gaze paralleled to the floor, but doesn’t seem reassured. After a moment she rises, slinging her spear back over her shoulder. “Will you be alright here for a while? There’s someone I need to speak to.”

 

Keith nods.

 

“I won’t be long.” Her hand finds his shoulder again and gives a reassuring squeeze before heading out the door and into the dark.

 

The silence is stifling. Keith stands and pulls the chair he was using so it’s almost propped against the bed. He settles back in it, looking over Shiro’s sleeping form for what feels like the hundredth time.

 

Shiro rests fitfully. Sweat beads his brow — whether that’s from the pain or Meridian’s blazing heat, he’s not sure. The edges of the bandages are already fraying and a few spots of blood have begun to permeate the bandages. Once they’d gotten past Brightmarket and towards the Spire he’d blacked out from the pain. Considering the severity of his wounds, that’s probably better for him.

 

Keith grimaces at how the strain from the fight makes itself known in the pull of his shoulders and the ache in his ribs. His hand finds the arrow wound along the side of his torso and prods it, wincing when sharp pain flares up. The blood flow from the cut on his cheek has stopped, but stings in movement. It was one of the toughest fights he’s ever been in — and considering his history in the Lodge, that’s saying something — but he knows that he’d do it again in a heartbeat. Nothing is worth seeing Shiro like this. Nothing is worth Shiro’s pain.

 

Just as suddenly as the fight had come in the base, Shiro wakes. Keith sees his eyes blink open and barely has time to react before they snap wide in the cabin’s low light. He surges upward, falling back with a gasp as pain overtakes him. His remaining hand fists itself in the bedsheets.

 

“Shiro!” Without hesitation, Keith grabs for his shoulder, putting himself in Shiro’s line of sight. His pupils are blown and he gasps for air like he’s surfaced from a pool of deep water, but Shiro meets his eyes.

 

“Shiro, look at me. It’s okay — you’re okay.” He does his best to sound reassuring.

 

It’s not much, but the words seem to bring him back. He blinks and loosens his grip on the sheets. He sways slightly and Keith tightens his grip to ensure he doesn’t fall right back over. The cloth that covered the cut on his nose has fallen away, exposing the torn flesh to the light. His haunted eyes meet Keith’s.

 

“Keith?”

  
“I’m right here,” he says, slow and quiet. “You’re home, and you’re safe. It’s going to be okay.”

 

At that he finally seems to calm. His breathing evens out and the panicked look gradually slips out of his eyes. He stares down at the sheets before his gaze flickers to what’s left of his arm.

 

“The Eclipse,” he says. He looks back to Keith, horror beginning to rise up in his eyes. “Allura—“

 

“It’s okay. We took care of them.”

 

“They’re searching for her.”

 

“They’re dead, Shiro,” he says, slower this time. “Whatever the Eclipse want with her, they won’t get it. We made sure of that.”

 

Shiro doesn’t look reassured, but nods slowly. His gaze moves to Keith, tracking up and down his body. Keith fights off a sudden wave of self-consciousness that grips him; Shiro checking him for injuries still catches him off guard. It’s a hell of a thing to be cared for after years on his own.

 

 “You’re hurt,” he says, frowning.

 

“I’m fine,” Keith says. “Rest.”

 

“Tell me what happened.”

 

He shakes his head firmly. “I will when you’re better. Just rest. Please.” His voice catches on the last word.

 

Shiro’s face softens. He says nothing, just nods. His good arm comes up to cradle the other, and falters when all he meets is air.

 

Somehow that hurts worse than any injury Keith carries now.

 

***

_Redmaw was so named for the number of Carja hunters who have been lost to his gaping maw or blasted by his jaw cannons. The log of Redmaw encounters in the Hunter’s Lodge says that much, provides a detailed report for anyone who can stomach the idea of taking on such a feared machine. It’s almost more legend than fact_ _— Keith might have believed that, if Shiro hadn’t told him about the first time he tracked the machine as a young hunter, how he’d fled the scene when it had taken out two aspiring Hawks with the ease of a hunter taking out a rabbit._

_Redmaw died in a joint victory, a long-awaited battle that put one Carja on top of the food chain and awarded two outsiders the pride they deserve._

_Keith had aimed the Ropecaster and fired, launching a tie wire into Redmaw’s side to tether the machine to the ground. Allura had flanked him and copied his action on the machine’s other side, tying another limb to the dirt in a temporary hold. Around them, Kolivan and Shiro had darted and weaved around the Thunderjaw’s colossal feet to fire a volley of arrows into the weakest points._

_Shiro had aimed a Tearblast arrow on Redmaw’s back, and rushed forward when the sonic blast knocked one of its cannons free. He’d hoisted the weapon, aimed for the machine’s now-exposed core, and fired. Each shot had echoed in Keith’s bones, thudded in his chest like a second heartbeat. They were Glinthawks fighting a Stormbird, if such encounters happened in the wilds_ _— several smaller targets taking on one larger, slower target and chipping away until nothing was left of it but a sparking core._

_When Redmaw finally fell, an earthshaking impact from the last arrow in Shiro’s quiver, no one dared breathe._

_Keith had looked to his Hawk and caught pride as it radiated out from his core. Shiro had practically glowed with it, stepping forward to lay a hand on the shell of Redmaw and gaze up at its defeated form._

_“Never again will you walk in the Light,” he’d said._

_The giddiness at defeating Redmaw didn’t leave the group until late that night, past the hours they’d spent at the Lodge bar, drinking into the breaking dawn. Shiro had been ready to leave when Keith had caught him outside the Lodge._

_“Congratulations, Sunhawk,” he’d said, smiling._

_Shiro had returned the smile, bright even in the morning gloom. “Congratulations to you too, Hawk. I knew you would do great things.”_

_“That was all you,” Keith had replied, falling into step alongside him. Meridian was mostly quiet at this hour, a few guards and the occasional citygoer wandering through the mazelike streets. It gave off an illusion of privacy; like they could be the last two people in the city._

_“We never could have done it alone,” Shiro had countered, catching him around the shoulders and pulling him in close. He’d been warm with drink, still riding the high that had come from defeating the most dangerous machine in the wilds. “I’d be a red smear in the jungle if not for you.”_

_“Flatterer.” Keith had elbowed him in the side, but didn’t stray from his embrace. “You’d never get to that point. I’d have found you and saved you by then.”_

_“Really?” He’d arched an eyebrow. “How many times are you gonna save me, then? Machine hunting isn’t a painless job, you know.”_

_The answer had come tumbling out of Keith before he’d even processed what he was going to say; “I’ll save you every time, and then some. As many times as it takes.”_

_The truth in his words had reddened his face, but the warm look Shiro had given him had been worth it._

 

***

The weeks of recovery are hard. There’s not much Shiro can do aside from wait until his wounds have healed, and he quietly resists Keith’s careful treatment. He’d always been stubborn, going out on hunts while ill or injured, never relenting, and now is no exception. He ends up disappearing from his temporary bunk in Keith’s house into the heart of Meridian more than once. Keith lets him. In fairness to Shiro, he gets it. They both hate being confined, even for safety’s sake.

 

And Shiro is different. He freezes up suddenly, immediately, at any number of things — loud noises, machine calls, shouts from Carja guards in the upper strides of Meridian. Keith has lost count of the times he’s gotten up in the middle of the night and found Shiro staring out the window, eyes trained on the woods like it’s hiding something. At night he’s caught in dreams so vivid and awful that his cries have woken Keith more than once, and if he wakes he escapes to deal with the aftermath on his own.

 

Keith returns to the house one day to find him standing before the bathroom’s looking glass, a damp cloth pressed gingerly to the side of his head. Once white, it’s now pink-edged and turning darker the closer it is to his skull. Another cloth, red-streaked, lies in a heap next to the basin.

 

“I killed a Strider,” he answers before the question is even out of Keith’s mouth. Though his voice is strained, there’s a shred of hope within it, an undercurrent of triumph. He catches Keith’s eye through the looking glass and smiles grimly.

 

“What’s with the cloth, then?” Keith asks, taking a place at his right side.

 

The drop in mood is instantaneous. Shiro’s stare hardens, drawing a fine line between his brows. He pulls the cloth, tinged with blood, away from the cut.

 

“I froze up,” he admits, quieter. “And the rest of them were mad.”

 

It’s failure and triumph, all at once.

 

Keith takes the cloth and wipes away the red.

 

***

 

Where the Hunter’s Lodge used to offer reprieve it now holds sadness, a heaviness that falls only over the Sunhawk.

 

The excited, chaotic energy of the space isn’t enough to dispel how wrong it still feels for Keith to be there alone, without Shiro. He carries his inherited title reluctantly, a trophy he can’t get rid of no matter how much he wants to. He does his best as Sunhawk out of obligation rather than pride, because that’s what Shiro wants.

 

So he settles into the role like ill-fitting armour, directing hunts and bounties and offering advice to fledglings when asked. Beyond that, he leaves the suffocating space as often as he can.

 

_It’s temporary_ , he tells himself. _Just until Shiro gets better._

 

Kolivan approaches him one day after he sends a fledgling away, crestfallen at being refused a Hawk. That’s the way it is — though they’d increased the number of Hawks and Thrushes since Shiro had been made Sunhawk, their space was still limited. Keith hates to do it, but it’s necessary.

 

“Can we not get someone to fill Shiro’s old position?” Kolivan asks, watching the fledgling walk out of the door, dejection on her heels. “I know of more than one Thrush who could move up in rank.”

 

Keith frowns. “What do you mean, ‘old position’?”

 

That seems to surprise him. “Shiro relinquished his title. Did he not tell you?”

 

“He did _what_?” The information hits him like an arrow. “No, he didn’t tell me anything.”

 

Kolivan shakes his head. “I thought he had informed you. He came in yesterday to collect his accolades.”

 

Heart pounding, Keith grabs for his bag and heads for the door. “I’ll be back soon. Handle anything that comes up until I return.”

 

He doesn’t wait for Kolivan’s reply before he’s out on the streets of Meridian.


	3. III

Keith finds Shiro at Meridian’s border, a bow slung on his back and his eyes trained on the sky’s edge. A gust of wind kicks up dust to scatter over the road; a tiny tempest compared to what the rest of the land can offer. If he notices Keith’s approach, he doesn’t show it.

 

“Shiro,” Keith says, and swallows the desperation in his voice. “What have you done?”

 

At that, Shiro does turn. There’s been a subtle shift around him, one that makes his eyes sad and his normally strong form seem weakened. As he gets closer Keith notices grey at Shiro’s temple, caught in the dark strands of hair above his forehead.

 

When had he gone grey? Why hadn’t Keith noticed earlier?

 

“I assume you spoke to Kolivan.” His businesslike tone betrays no emotion but allows weariness to enter his words. He’s tired, so tired, and wears it like he wears the bandages on his wound.

 

“Why would you step down? You’re going to get better — you already have! You’re already out and living and going back to your normal routine—“

 

Shiro cuts him off. “I can’t stay, Keith. I have to go.”

 

The wind dies at the last word, leaving them both in the open.

 

The world shouldn’t fall away as fast as it does, but Keith is hit with the full impact of Shiro’s words as soon as he says them. There’s finality to them that tips him off, halts his disbelief, and says _no, this is real_. It’s a terrifying thing to hear from Shiro.

 

“You can’t,” he says immediately. “We need you.”

 

Shiro shrugs — to the untrained eye it looks casual, but Keith can read the silent cues in the way he refuses to look at him, in the distance between them.

 

“It’s not like you have a shortage of hunters. The Lodge will be fine. And you’re doing great as Sunhawk —“

 

“I can’t replace you, Shiro!”

 

Shiro sighs. “I can’t just sit around Meridian and be useless.”

 

“You aren’t,” he insists.

 

“Then what am I, Keith?” The bitter tone cuts him to the bone. “I can’t fight. I can’t hunt. I can’t help you or Allura or anyone like this.”

 

Keith’s stomach drops. He’s serious. Shiro’s adept at seeing reason, and his plans never come without careful thought. That he thinks this is the only solution is terrifying. Keith knows that his wanting Shiro to stay is selfish — and it’s not fair, really, to react this way when he might have made a similar decision in light of the circumstances, but it’s already clinging to him like armour. That feeling of uselessness is a familiar pang in his chest that still hits him even after years of learning and fighting. On days when he couldn’t hunt, or when he messed up, or when things went wrong in the blink of an eye and a misplaced arrow.

 

He understands, he really does. But his heart wins out in the end, thudding painfully in his chest with the insistence that Shiro can’t go, can’t leave him here alone with a title earned and given in blood.

 

“Allura said there’s an Oseram settlement in the outlands, near Sunfall. She said there are people there who can help me — prosthetic technicians and healers. It could get me back to n—“

 

‘Normal’ dies on his tongue, but Keith hears it clearly enough.

 

“How are you gonna get there?” Keith asks, stepping closer. Shiro moves back. The physical distance hurts — Shiro’s never avoided him like this, never stepped back as though he’s afraid of Keith, of what Keith might say.

 

“Walking,” Shiro replies, as if it’s obvious. It might be, if Keith hadn’t known that Sunfall is days away. A week’s journey, at least — depending on the path and the kind of people on the road. He’s not swayed that easily.

 

“Through half a dozen machine sites? Past Shadow Carja territory? That’s suicide.”

 

He sighs. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

 

It’s not just that Shiro will be going into dangerous territory. Deep down, Keith knows Shiro can handle himself in the wilds. He’s tough, resilient, and a smart machine hunter — he wouldn’t have been Sunhawk otherwise. Even with one arm, even with a new pain tearing at his mind and freezing him in the line of fire, even with no weapons beyond a spear. It’s the idea of Shiro leaving that scares him.

 

No one else has ever stayed with him this long. Everyone else has left, like Shiro will.

 

Emotion begins to thrum in his veins, humming beneath his skin. He has to do something. He thinks if he doesn’t, his feelings will crack inside him, shatter outwards like shards of metal. He’s carried them for far too long as it is.

 

“Please,” Keith says, quieter.

 

Remorse shows itself in Shiro’s gaze. He reaches out, hesitates, and then gently places a hand on his shoulder.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says.

 

Keith doesn’t think; he just moves. One moment they’re apart and in the next they’re not, and he’s kissing Shiro like it’s his last act in life.

 

It lasts only seconds, but as Keith pulls away the weight of his actions crash down around him. Shiro just looks surprised; wide-eyed and slightly pink around the edges. Keith, however, feels himself flush red immediately, and looks back to him with horror clawing its way up his throat. His heart hammers in his chest like it’s trying to escape.

 

“I—“ he falters.

 

This time it’s Shiro that moves in. He’s pulled in close as Shiro returns the kiss, and his hands find their way up to encircle him, to encourage him, to brush through his short hair. Shiro’s hand finds skin beneath Keith’s Blazon armour, resting feather-light just above the small of his back. It’s electric, Shiro’s touch tingling across his skin like a tripwire.

 

He rests his forehead against Keith’s when they break the kiss. “You make it very hard to follow through on hard decisions, you know.”

 

Keith closes his eyes. Shiro’s hand slips into his and he squeezes it to ground himself. “Then don’t. Just stay.”

 

“I can’t.”

 

“Then I’ll go with you,” Keith insists, and he hears Shiro draw in a sharp breath. When he opens his eyes Shiro is watching him with an expression like apprehension mixing with hope, like oil on water. “So you don’t have to be alone.”

 

Shiro’s quiet for a moment before he steps back. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

 

“You aren’t,” he replies. “I’m offering.”

 

Uncertainty works its way across his face and drags his handsome features downward. “What about your home? The Lodge?”

 

“Someone else will take up the title. Kolivan, maybe,” Keith says. “Shiro, you were the only person who stuck up for me in the Lodge. You were my Hawk. If you’re leaving, then I’m going to follow you right out.”

 

Shiro smiles, reaching out to brush his hand through the ends of Keith’s overlong hair. His light touch traces the arrow’s cut on his cheek. “I’ll never win a fight against your stubbornness, will I?”

 

“No one has.” Keith leans into the touch. “Not Iverson, not Allura, and not you.”

 

“Someday I will,” he says, and the idea that they could have a ‘someday’ makes warmth bloom in Keith’s chest.

 

***

 

They leave for the outlands together, the sun in their path and hope on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read/enjoyed this! I had a ton of fun writing it.
> 
> I have some ideas in this crossover involving other characters. We'll see what comes of them.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ aloydante or espressopidge!


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